


Take Me There

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Sequel, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom makes an offhand promise after the EMAs and of course, Bill remembers.  Direct sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/679383">So Much for the Afterglow</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me There

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to ma_chelle for the beta and fangirling the bottom!Tom trend, and to omgwtfskittles for the speedy and perfect banner. But especially kishmet for telling me to put off help_haiti for a little unashamed smut.

Tom had been practicing his French in order to drop a few filthy phrases and pretend all unsuspecting that he had no clue what he was saying in a few interviews, but in the end it hadn't mattered when the price sheet came over from NRJ. It had thrown David into a rage and he'd said, simply and coldly, that he would take care of it while Bill had descended into a sulk that had lasted for days.

"If people don't see me performing and looking pretty at least once a month," Bill had said direly, "they will forget _all about us_ , Tom."

"That's not possible," Tom had responded instantly, ruffling over Bill's bangs. "Who's about to strut his stuff in Milan?"

Bill's quick grin had lit up his face and the sulk dissipated.

"See? We don't need to go to the NRJ Award Show – it's peanuts, small-time stuff now," Tom had said with a scoff. "Lady GaGa's not going." He was up on the music celebrity news; he had the internet. He'd considered Lady GaGa for a replacement celebrity crush, but she looked like the type to pursue his lewd but baseless offers and try to peg him for good measure.

"I'd kill for a quarter of Lady GaGa's revenue," Bill had retorted, then tossed his tail of hair back with a sniff. "You're right, though; the NRJs are peanuts."

Tom remembered their prior winnings with nostalgia, though, despite the dickish recent behavior of the French station. Performance compensation was reasonable, but the balance sheet they'd sent had made his jaw drop – and Tom was used to multiple-zero figures now. The day of the NRJ award show had been packed-schedule busy for them, between coordinating details for the upcoming tour and practicing as a band to prep for their live performances. Despite all that, the twins had managed to return home somehow in time for Tom to catch the last half of the live feed.

On that score, Tom suspected an Act of Bill – his twin made the most subtle manipulations to accommodate what he knew Tom wanted. Nostalgia for the thrill of their early wins, as well as curiosity over whether their fans would come through again for a voted award, led Tom to boot up his laptop and open a feed from the show. He grinned and didn't bother to slip on his headphones as he heard the same weird French hip-hop blaring from the other room. For all Bill's pretensions of indifference after NRJ had snubbed them, Tom knew his twin was wishing they were there right now.

"We'd class up the joint!" Tom called out.

"Shut up, or I'll throw popcorn at you!" Bill threatened.

"Haven't got any!" Tom hollered. "You know, we could be watching this together, in here."

The tsk of exasperation came through loud and clear. "Tom, I am multi-tasking!"

Tom made a skeptical noise in his throat. He had to allow that Bill was probably reading and sorting e-mails.

"Besides, if I was in there, you'd be feeling me up and I'd get nothing done."

Tom shrugged. That was true.

He tried to turn his attention back to the performance, but the smuttily-inclined track of his mind had taken hold. Ever since the EMAs the previous November, he and Bill had been "doing it," in the words of a classic song, "and doing it and doing it well." It had made Tom wonder if he'd been seriously brain-damaged to hold off on tapping Bill's sweet ass for as long as he had.

The frequency of their sex had doubled – maybe even tripled; Tom wasn't keeping official count. They had each other pretty much whenever they could be assured of a locked door and a suitable interval of uninterrupted time. And Tom had become a pro at finding and nailing Bill's spot with a minimum of searching.

If he kept on that mental track, it was either rub one out or drag his attention back to the performance, and Tom was feeling too lazy to play with his junk after a long morning and afternoon. He didn't think they'd win – they were up against Green Day (that sounded familiar), and fucking U2, and even the Black Eyed Peas. The addition of Jay-Z and Alicia Keys to the nominees made their little German band from Magdeburg look even more woefully misplaced on the list. Best International Group – Tom had a feeling this would be the year they didn't get another NRJ to line up on their studio trophy shelf.

Then again, he'd had the same feeling at the EMAs, and his very late night had concluded with full penetrative sex with Bill for the first time, so one never knew. As his eyes glazed, Tom realized he was going off-topic again and gave himself a quick slap to the face.

"You'd better not be working one out in there!" Bill called, eerily attuned to Tom's state of arousal. Or not, given how often they ended up doing it when they were home.

Tom turned his attention back to the performance and found himself absorbed by the giant glow-studded contraption waltzing around the stage like a giant robot. He contemplated the logistics of having their own giant robot onstage for their Humanoid tour and regretfully gave up the notion when he concluded that Bill would be crushed. Seeing as he was the only Bill that Tom had...

"Wouldn't that be cool?" Bill called excitedly from the other room. "Without the glow in the dark inlay, thought."

Tom smirked at his computer screen. "I don't hear you typing in there!" he called back.

There was a pause, followed by a steady clack-clack of keys being assaulted. Bill wasn't a fast typist, but he was a determined one.

Tom licked his lips and concentrated on the feed again. The French was too rapid-fire for him to follow and the announcer was going through some sort of cell phone skit. Exasperated, Tom cast about the room for something to do and patted his leg, calling Nova over. "Want to play Fetch?" he tantalized the dog.

Several rounds of Fetch and a losing bout of tug-rope later, Tom pulled his chair up to his laptop again and watched bemusedly as a buxom blond made her way over the stage to tipsily wish the crowd good evening in French – twice.

Tom could picture Bill's lip curling and he wanted to make an observation about the blond woman's tits out of habit, but he also had plans to have sex some time that evening. Since remarks about someone else's appeal had a direct correlation to the likelihood of Tom getting laid, he kept his mouth shut.

"Shouldn't they have already told us whether we won?" Tom wondered aloud at a sufficient volume that Bill would hear it.

"It's part of their diabolical plans to be raging assholes," Bill called back, his fingers producing unceasing clicking noises; probably e-mailing the Caten twins again.

"Or, you know, we didn't win," Tom offered an alternative.

Silence from the other room.

"They're still raging assholes," Tom added.

"And how!" Bill hollered.

Tom sighed and wished he'd gone for a drink before the awards show had gotten to their category. "Fetch a beer?" he said hopefully to Nova, who wagged his tail and regarded Tom with adoring eyes that reminded him of a look that crossed Bill's face every now and then.

"Shut up!" Bill called from the other room in dulcet tones. "This is the moment of truth!"

Tom caught himself nodding and riveted himself to the bright display of his monitor. The announcer was opening the envelope and Ke$ha – he was pretty sure it was Ke$ha – was wobbling and trying to make it look like a lean to peer at the results.

The moment "Black Eyed Peas" cleared the announcer's mouth, a string of vituperative curses filled the air. Tom admired the cadence and variety for a moment – they knew how to curse in six languages and were always egging each other on to learn more. He tried to tune in to the feed again, but Bill was very distracting. Sometimes Tom suspected they had that predominantly-American disorder, ADHD.

"Shut that fucking thing off!" Bill bellowed, and in the distance came the slam of his laptop lid banging down forcefully.

Annoyed, Tom ignored his twin and scanned the feed for evidence of the Black Eyed Peas in the crowd. He knew he'd seen them earlier, thrilled and hugging each other as they jumped up to accept an award for one of their songs.

He wanted to see Fergie take the stage again, because the woman was pretty decent and he was halfway shopping a replacement star crush. Jessica Alba had served him well for years, and she was still a hell of a MILF, but Jost had warned Tom that he was wearing her out as far as alibis went and he should let someone else have a turn. The cameras panned over the audience, but there wasn't a single shot of the Peas.

"Why aren't they going up to accept it?" Tom wondered aloud, looking over at Nova, who was missing from his usual position lazily splayed on the floor nearby. Tom glanced at the feed again, twiddled his thumbs, leaned back, and rested both hands on his flat stomach. "Huh."

Instead of cutting to commercial, an act, or skit, an awkward silence had fallen over the crowd. Tom frowned as the emcee came back on, accompanied by the little man who'd announced the winner. What followed was too fast for Tom's grasp of French, again, but he understood the patter of "it's not Black Eyed Peas," and caught his own band's name – Tokio Hotel.

"No way," Tom uttered, brows climbing his face. Screams tore through the crowd. Their name appeared onscreen beneath the words, Best International Group. "Well, shit. I never get tired of seeing that."

The sound of typing ceased abruptly in the other room while the ring of Bill's phone trilled.

"Seriously?" Bill's voice spiraled upward until Tom winced and expected to hear at least one dog howling. "Oh, those pricks! They didn't even let us tape an acceptance video!" There was more silence and Tom watched the live feed with bemusement. The whole thing was fishy. How did you read a wrong name off the winner's envelope? He'd only ever heard of winners being printed on that, to avoid this very confusion.

He caught another phrase, "c'est n'est-pas grave," roughly, no big deal, and his jaw clenched. Now he shut his laptop to cut off the feed, carefully but still with enough force to express his sudden jolt of anger. No big deal, indeed. It would've reeked even if their band hadn't been on the outs with NRJ before the awards show.

"Bill," Tom called out.

Silence, then his twin said crisply, "That's fine – I'll draft something up tomorrow. No rush, right?" After another pause, Bill said, protestingly, "Of course I'm grateful to the fans! Always! Even when their behavior is ridiculously intrusive without crossing the line into stalking!"

Tom snorted and opened his laptop, deciding to check a few rabid fan reactions on this latest gaffe. He knew they'd have threads up already. He only hoped people wouldn't think it was _their_ fault somehow. Tom liked the Black Eyed Peas okay.

Several sites and the opening stages of a Google news search later, the suspicious nature of the silence embracing him impinged on Tom's consciousness at last. He swiveled his chair from the computer desk and found himself assailed with a lapful of Bill.

"Hi," Bill murmured, and rubbed noses with Tom.

"Hi," Tom replied, nudging Bill's nose to the side and pressing a kiss on him. "I was hoping you'd bring me a soda. Or a beer."

Bill pulled back just out of kissing range, wrinkling his nose. "I was hoping you'd want to move this to the couch."

Oh, Tom thought, dumbly excited already because if Bill didn't want him to have soda, it meant he didn't want him to belch, because belching was a big turn-off. Tom was about to get lucky if he didn't mis-step somehow. "Wanna celebrate another win?" he suggested, eyes hopeful.

Bill's face lit up, his eyes crinkling at the corners and mouth turning up in his widest 'I've got a hit single' grin. "Mmmf, yes," he said, nodding with enthusiasm. "Let's go fool around."

Tom tightened his arms around Bill, preparing to lift him up and into his arms, but Bill jumped to his feet before Tom could do it. Sometimes Bill enjoyed feats of strength from him, and other times he smacked Tom for it and accused him of showing off; apparently now was one of the latter times. Tom hurried over to the couch on the far side of the room, giddy as a teenager at the prospect of fooling around and hard already because he knew Bill would follow through, unlike teenage girls.

"I have been horny all afternoon and evening," Bill declared, depositing himself into Tom's lap.

"And you're just coming to me now? Baby..." Tom murmured, overcome. He hated even the thought of making Bill wait, even if Bill had done it to himself. He wound his arms around Bill and kissed his chin.

"Yeah!" Bill chirped brightly, and latched onto his ear, nibbling and tonguing at the lobe. "The moment has come, Tomi. Time to get rid of your virginity."

"Huh? Wait, what?" Tom responded, beginning to smirk out of sheer reflex. "What are you going on about, Bill? I haven't been a virgin in years."

Bill scowled over at him, then reached down to grab Tom's butt. "You are, down here," he proclaimed. A hand squeezed one of Tom's rear-cheeks.

"Uhh?" Tom declared uncertainly.

"You forgot!?" Bill exclaimed, making the eyes at Tom. The devastating eyes. It was an expression that, once aimed at Tom, was pretty much guaranteed to secure Bill anything he was after. They'd had a hell of a fight over Humanoid's tracklist until Bill had aimed _those_ eyes at Tom.

"I...I didn't forget," Tom said, defensively. It had to be in the recesses of his brain somewhere. Problem was, whatever blood supply he needed for memory retrieval was currently located in his cock.

"Right," Bill said, leaning in and kissing Tom's nose. "That's why your face is a complete blank."

"That's my sex face," Tom said, sincere. "I want to have sex."

Bill leaned forward, shifting in Tom's lap until their bellies bumped. "That's what I want, too," he said, eyelids lowering and lips faintly parted, fixing his own sex look on Tom. It was a little disturbing because Tom frequently saw a similar face looking at him out of photo shoot proofs.

At least he always wore baggy jeans.

"Yeah, but..." Tom began, about to put his twin off, or just push him over and make him like it, when it hit him. Bill's eyes glinted over at him with mixed annoyance and mischief. "Ah, fuck. The NRJs."

"Yes, the NRJs!" Bill said, clapping his hands with a sheer excess of delight. "You promised I'd get to drill your ass if we won that award."

Tom sputtered that he was absolutely certain he hadn't phrased it like that.

"Whatever; I get to top," Bill said, airily waving a hand. "It was a sucker bet, Tom – you know our fans. I thought you were looking for an excuse."

Tom considered it as Bill made wide eyes at him. Bill did seem to enjoy having his prostate stimulated quite a bit, and they were physiologically similar in almost every way, so... He started to shake his head anyhow as Bill began to kiss down his neck, groping his bottom again.

"You feel good," Bill praised, muffled, against his neck tendons.

"We can't do it here," Tom said, starting to push Bill off him but ending up with his hands up Bill's shirt somehow. Damn his brother's tantalizing expanses of flesh. "We...we don't have anything."

Bill giggled against his neck and dug into his own pocket, dropping a small tube on the cushion beside them.

"It's too messy," Tom tried his second avenue of excuses. The last time they'd had spontaneous sex on the couch, Tom had gone through five different cleaning products to restore it. Cleaning up the aftermath of their sex was not something he'd ever outsource.

"So we'll put our shirts down," Bill mumbled. "Those have to get washed anyhow." He squeezed Tom's butt.

Tom tried not to whimper. "But, the dogs might come in," he tried his last resort.

Bill's lips curved against his neck, forming an undoubtedly devious smile. "I fed them," he replied, "and gated them into the kitchen."

Now Tom bit his lip to quell the building whimper, because Bill had closed off every possible avenue of escape. "We're gonna have sex," he said, giving in and stroking over the deliciously-warm skin of Bill's stomach.

"We're gonna have sex," Bill confirmed, sitting back over Tom's thighs and pursing his lips.

Without a single sigh, Tom gave up the fight and kissed him. He ought to try it at least once, he figured. It was only fair. Even if the prospect of something up his ass, so much as a finger let alone Bill's more than average size cock, was daunting.

"Relax, Tomi," Bill murmured, and kissed his mouth. His hands went up and down Tom's back and settled on his waistband.

Tom nodded, convinced it was not that simple even though he'd been quick to counsel the same when he wanted in there himself. This was _his_ ass they were talking about this time. Bill liked things in his ass. Tom's opinion on the matter was unproven.

"I'll make it good," Bill assured him, and kissed him again.

The expression that crossed Tom's face wasn't dubious so much as it was doubtful, and there was a very fine distinction. He didn't disbelieve Bill's ability to make him come. That would probably happen no matter what so long as Bill was enjoying himself. It was simply that there was a proper order to things; Tom knew this, he was meticulous about everything. He played guitar, Bill sang. His skin was pristine, Bill's tattooed. He was reserved, Bill flamboyant. He went au natural, Bill tried not to leave the house without makeup if he could possibly avoid it. Tom topped, and Bill...

"Tom Kaulitz," Bill said, taking Tom's face between his hands.

Tom gave a guilty start.

"Just because I act gay doesn't mean I'm the bottom in our relationship," Bill said sternly, interpreting Tom's thoughts accurately enough to make him flush.

"I...I know, but...those talons of yours are not going up my butt," Tom stated with certitude.

Bill arched his right brow, drumming his fingers across Tom's cheek. "Oh?"

In that moment Tom realized his little brother's fingernails had been clipped short. They were still black-polished, as he remembered from Bill's strut up and down DSQUARED2's catwalk, but filed down.

"Um," Tom gulped, and tried to look away, but Bill had him prisoned with his gaze like a feline about to pounce. If he looked away first, he was done for.

"You're lucky I'm not a chick," Bill said scornfully, "or I'd be pissed you're so unobservant."

"I think your nails are the one thing I barely notice," Tom said, "because you change them so often."

Bill leaned into him, arching a brow. There were degrees to that facial quirk, and Tom could read the incredulity like fine print.

"I'm not stalling," Tom assured him, trying to convince himself at the same time. "I think I just need to be, um, warmed up to the idea."

"Ah," Bill uttered, and rocked in his lap, rubbing against his front. Their bellies skidded together as Tom worked Bill's shirt higher, hands trawling for his nipples. "My Tomi wants foreplay?"

"Shh, do you want the world to know?" Tom complained. "Next thing I know, you'll be spreading word that I have a cuddle fetish."

"Tomi likes cuddles," Bill said, hiking his brow again. He leaned forward and brought their bodies into full frontal alignment, plastering another kiss on him.

"Bill likes dick," Tom countered, trailing his fingers down the center line of Bill's body and pushing them into Bill's unresisting jeans.

"Today Bill likes ass," Bill purred into Tom's ear as though it were a secret.

Tom groaned but put up no attempts at resistance as Bill groped him again, nibbling at his ear. "Okay," Tom said, beginning to breathe heavily as Bill lavished attention on the shell of his ear, licking the sensitive rim and tracing a pathway through the inner convolutions. All the while, hands massaged steadily at his butt.

Heat built up in Tom's middle and spread outward. Not only was Bill grinding steadily against him and giving his ear a tongue-bath, but the hands cupping his ass gave Tom a constant reminder of Bill's intentions. Apprehension and lust swirled together in a heady mix that recalled Tom's state of arousal just before he'd made love to Bill for the first time. Had Bill been feeling this way, then?

With a little groan Tom pushed up against Bill, increasingly eager to try it. He peeled up Bill's shirt as far as it would go and played with Bill's nipples until his brother gasped and leaned back, stilling his movement on Tom's lap.

"That's nice," Bill informed him, eyes hazy. He stripped his shirt off then swooped down on Tom, taking his face between his hands and kissing Tom's mouth, hard.

Bill made broken, urgent noises into Tom's mouth as they kissed sloppily. His tongue was plundering, frantic as the hot desperate fucks they'd had in Milan the week before. Tom opened to it and closed his eyes, going with Bill's lead. Bill's forcefulness had been a lead-up to this moment, he could tell now. Tom circled Bill's nipples with his thumbs and rubbed over the peaks they formed as he and Bill kissed harder, Bill's tongue pushing its way into his mouth in little licks and longer strokes. The noises Bill released against Tom's lips got him hot as the pulse of Bill's groin against his, excitement straining against him, and the hand that snaked down Tom's back again to grab his ass.

"Do it," Tom said at last, licking his lips – and Bill's in the process, as he was close enough to share spit.

Bill grinned and kissed him again, laying his lips heavily against Tom's and pushing into him. They were both breathing hard as Bill moved atop him, their groins bumping. "Get your shirt off," he told Tom.

Tom was used to dictating the pace of their sex, and yet he was also accustomed to his bossy Bill. He divested himself of hoodie and the shirt below it and settled back against the couch as Bill kissed down his throat, pushing at Tom's bare chest in a way that told him wordlessly to get settled while Bill continued his attentions. Tom was just starting to think maybe he didn't need _that_ much foreplay as Bill licked and hummed happily around his sensitive nipples when a hand slipped into the back of his boxers. He clenched reflexively.

Dropping a kiss onto the nearest nipple and leaving it cold and wet, Bill sat back on his thighs. "How do you want to do this?" he asked. He darted in briefly to kiss Tom's throat, swirling his tongue around and pressing the bead of his tongue stud in for contrast, then sat up again with an expectant look. "On your knees, on your back? On the bed?"

Tom threaded his fingers through Bill's belt-loops and thought about it. "If we stop to go all the way up to go to bed, we might lose momentum," he confessed, lifting up far enough to line up the bulge of Bill's hard cock against his. His eyes closed as Bill's breath roughened. Moist, full lips closed over his again and Tom opened to them, protesting wordlessly when they lifted away too soon.

"Mm, I see what you mean," Bill murmured, and rocked them together a few times until Tom gasped and reached for his zipper.

He wanted cock, naked cocks together; he wanted to line them up again and compare. They were so similar down there, Bill's as familiar as his own. Bill was long and curved a little to the left, while Tom was the same and curved a bit to the right. That was the only difference.

Bill pushed his hand away, redirecting it to his hip. "Naughty Tomi," he murmured. "We're doing this my way. You get to pick, though; on your knees, or on your back?"

Tom licked his lips again, about to ask whether there was a position that wouldn't leave him with the sense he was _ridiculously vulnerable_ , then dismissed the question. He was about to get a dick up his ass; was there anything more vulnerable than that?

For other people, that would be sharing one's feelings freely, but Tom was with Bill. They shared everything unspoken and not, even if it pissed one or the other of them off, made Bill cry, or caused fights. They got through it all. For Tom, vulnerability was the loss of control, being this exposed – even to Bill, who knew and saw everything about him. It was losing control, and being unable to do anything about it. Tom could stand not being the dominant twin in their relationship but the prospect of not being dominant in bed; rather, in lovemaking, gave him queasy flutters.

A shadow crossed Bill's face. "I trapped you into this," he began, seeming vaguely concerned at last. He bit his lip. "Tomi, if you really don't..."

Tom shook his head. "I trust you," he said, reinforcing the conviction through speaking it aloud. He stretched up to lay a kiss on Bill's lip where it was folded adorably between his teeth. "You want this."

"I want _you_ to want this," Bill began, and Tom surged up to kiss him again, and again. Bill sank into his mouth with a low groan and they moved against each other again, clothed groins bumping hard. They moved faster, Bill rocking atop him with the anxious, hungry noises that made the muscles low in Tom's stomach tighten in response, made his dick flex in his boxers as though looking for a way out.

"I want this," Tom gasped out against Bill's slick lips as Bill panted against him, wriggling to get their groins even closer.

"Because I want this," Bill countered.

"Isn't that how it goes sometimes?" Tom said. He ran his hands up and down Bill's smooth, warm back, then in front to trail his calloused fingers over Bill's sensitive ribs. "Come on, let's do it."

"Still haven't answered me," Bill said, and captured Tom's bottom lip in a brief kiss, sucking it into his mouth and tonguing it suggestively. Bill knew how to use his tongue stud to devastating effect on just about every part of Tom's body.

"Yes," Tom said, waggling his eyebrows.

Bill snorted and pinched Tom's nipples, raked them briefly and made Tom hiss. "Yes isn't the answer, ass."

"If sex is the question, yes is the answer," Tom said confidently, and hitched up to kiss Bill's irked expression away. He laughed and latched onto Bill's ear when Bill turned his face, huffing with annoyance. "And apparently you're tapping my ass."

"Mm, I am," Bill hummed, appearing excited all over again. He bounced in Tom's lap and made Tom cringe.

"Fuck...ah, Bill, be careful! I'm not a pony!" Tom protested.

Bill made a little face at him but calmed his movements until he rubbed their covered dicks together again with slow-grinding friction. "Tom," he said, and licked along his jaw. "Tom, I need it." His voice was hoarse and he pressed and held the trapped cock in his pants against Tom's.

Tom's head bobbed and he licked his lip, sharing Bill's rising anxiety and near-frustration. "Okay," he said, a little confused by the cues that Bill was giving him. "Okay." Normally this was the point at which he'd tip Bill onto his back and have his way with him.

"Fuck," Bill groaned, bumping their cocks together and easing his thighs around Tom's. He rubbed them together again and the friction was good, but not nearly enough.

"On my front," Tom decided at last, tonguing at his lip and biting it.

Bill nodded heavily and climbed off him, using Tom's shoulders to steady himself as he unbuckled his jeans and pushed them down off his trim hips. His eyes were dark and intent as he watched Tom lift his hips and get his belt and pants down, shoving them far down enough to kick them into a heap at the foot of the couch. Bill's hand went into his boxers and he stroked himself as he watched Tom spread their shirts over the cushions, then get on his knees.

"You're so hot," Bill said softly, climbing behind him on the couch and reaching for the lube. "Tom, you're so fucking hot, you have the most amazing body."

"Bill," Tom whined, ducking his head to hide embarrassment. "Don't...you don't need to romance me, okay? It's a done deal; just _do_ me."

The only response was laughter, followed by caressing hands.

Tom had braced himself for cold lube-covered fingers and he groaned with surprise. Hands kneaded over the muscles of his lower back, knuckles pressing in and rolling over his flesh and making him want to rumble with delight. "What are you..."

"Shut up and enjoy it," Bill told him with affection.

"I thought you were going to--" Tom was still expecting imminent intrusion and couldn't quite let himself enjoy the surprise massage even though Bill was very, very good at it. The current lack of nails made it even better.

"You're way too fucking tense," Bill informed him. "If I stick anything up there right now you'd try to turn it into a diamond."

Tom laughed, the explosive sound catching him off-guard, and he leaned against the cushion in front of him for support. "Okay, you're the expert." It was nice, if a bit weird, leaning on the couch with his butt in the air while Bill stopped to give him a massage. "There had better be a happy ending."

Bill chuckled and kissed his tailbone. "Very." He flicked his tongue along the top of the crease of Tom's ass. "Do you want me to--" he began, in a reflective tone.

"No!" Tom squealed, and began to trundle away on elbows and knees until Bill cackled and grabbed him around the waist, kissing higher on his spine in a safe zone. "It's not...it's not clean enough for that. Don't, seriously, Bill."

"Okay, calm down," Bill told him, kissing him again, then mapping down each vertebra with soft open-mouthed kisses. He licked each one, a brief press of his tongue and concluded with a soft nibble to Tom's sacrum. "We're not going to do anything outside of your comfort zone, mister germaphobe."

Tom grunted and sucked in a slow breath as Bill kissed him again with lazy swipes of his tongue, dipping into the crease of his ass but going no further down. "I would've waxed," he said nervously, "if I'd known you were going to..." Bill waxed down there for him and Tom loved it.

"Don't worry about it, it's fine," Bill soothed. One hand kneaded at Tom's butt, spreading the cheeks, until at last something moist touched Tom low on his back, high in the cleft of his ass.

It was only when Tom's eyes flew open that he realized he'd squeezed them shut tight. "Oh," he said hoarsely, because it wasn't cold. As he relaxed, Bill's finger took advantage and slipped inside. It didn't hurt at all, and that was another kind of jolt. He said again, wonderingly, "Oh."

"Like that?" Bill said encouragingly, shifting behind him on the couch and pressing another open-mouthed kiss to Tom's upraised ass.

"I don't hate it," Tom replied, full of wonder. "Um. Move it around some?"

Bill chuckled at him again and wiggled his finger around in Tom until he squirmed.

"Ahh, stop it!" Tom said, breathing hard. "Do you even know how to find my prostate or are you playing around back there?"

"I know how to find it!" Bill exclaimed, all indignance, then confessed guiltily, "Might be a bit of both."

"Okay," Tom began, and lost his train of thought as Bill began to move the finger inside him, searching. Tom went through a series of noises, none of them dignified, before settling on another strained, "Oh." He'd been pretty sure, one might say biased against it even, that fingers in Tom's ass would not end in enjoyment. He was finding that he had to revise his opinion on the fly.

Behind him, Bill breathed faster and worked his finger in more firmly, exploring.

"Bill," Tom said, bracing himself and widening his stance. "Give me two."

"Yeah?" Bill prompted, breathing harder.

Tom dipped his head in a nod. He hissed a little when Bill's finger left him. There was a low squelch, then warm fingers probed at his entrance again. Tom had to take a moment to admire how thoroughly Bill had covered all the bases; not only closing off all avenues of escape, but warming the lube and being so slow and thoughtful with him. The burn of arousal rekindled low in his stomach and Tom bit his lip when Bill returned with two fingers, pressing them in with a careful slide.

More fingers certainly wasn't _worse_ , and as Bill eased then back and forth it didn't take long until they were _better_ , and Tom was worked up from questing ass-play to finger-fucking so gradually that it seemed only natural when he was rocking back against the force of Bill's hand while Bill worked three fingers into him. After some exploration Bill found the prostate on his own, no coaching necessary, and his delighted chuckles underscored Tom's involuntary howls. Bill played with him so long that Tom began to suspect that Bill, too, might be a bit afraid of topping, of switching their accustomed roles no matter how fiercely he'd deny it.

"You like that?" Bill asked him, panting. He thrust his fingers in and out of Tom, coaxing sloppy noises out of his body.

Tom groaned in response and lowered his head, speaking to the cushion, "Fuck me."

Bill drew in a shuddering breath. "You sure?" The frenetic motions of Bill's hand stilled.

"We'll see," Tom said bravely.

Bill moaned and pressed kisses to the base of Tom's spine, pulling his fingers out. He reached between Tom's legs and rubbed a hand over his balls, then squeezed his cock as though making sure Tom was still into it, ready for the next step. After giving Tom a few pulls until Tom was trying to hump back under his weight, Bill withdrew and kissed Tom's tailbone again.

"I love you," Bill said, sounding breathless. The lubed tip of his dick traced a slippery path down Tom's crack and settled there, where he was about to join them.

"Uh-huh," Tom responded, focused on the sensation of Bill's cock set where Tom had been pretty sure nothing was going to go. He was grateful that his brother understood, that he didn't get upset or indignant; Bill merely laughed and drew his nails up and down Tom's sides, trying to soothe him again.

"Relax," Bill whispered, and moved against him, lining his smooth hairless thighs up against the backs of Tom's.

"Ahhh," Tom said, and his head went back as it went in.

"Good?" Bill groaned, and panted, and moved it in and out.

"Mmmf," Tom expressed his opinion, lowering his head and trying not to whine. Neither of them could be considered small. It was very... _invasive._

"Spread your legs," Bill urged him. "Brace yourself better, relax."

"Uhhh," Tom grunted, shifting in small awkward motions as he tried to figure how to spread himself without feeling ridiculously exposed then realized, hell, it was Bill, who already knew everything about him, embarrassing or pride-worthy. It was a good thing their couch was plenty wide enough.

"Bend over a little more," Bill advised, petting along his sides. He reached down with one hand to grasp Tom's cock. "You're doing great, you're doing just fine."

"Aaaagh," Tom responded, as he did as instructed and Bill moved against him and it went in _again_ , the withdrawal easy, pleasurable even, and in _again_ , and that kind of hurt but it was weirdly awesome, and Bill repeated it over and over.

"Better?" Bill wanted to know, pushing into him faster now, both hands gripping Tom's hips at the join where they met his thighs. He stroked the flesh there and it was oddly comforting as he fitted their bodies together again and again.

"Nnng," Tom managed, trying not to bite his tongue as he labored to hold himself up against Bill's steady thrusts and his legs quivered. That was all kinds of wrong, because he was _fit_ ; he worked out regularly, and there was no way he should be on the verge of collapse.

"You okay, Tomi?" Bill asked, patting his sweaty back and sounding concerned. He rested against Tom and the movement of his cock digging up inside made Tom's throb.

"I think...I think..." Tom panted, and rested his head on the couch. All the while Bill kept going in and out, in and out, and Tom shook. "I think I need to be on my back for this." It was intense, the pleasure building up fast in his stomach and radiating throughout his whole body, yet Tom knew he wasn't anywhere near coming.

"We can do that!" Bill said, sounding pleased. He pulled free of Tom's body with a soft, obscene noise, rubbed himself in Tom's crack, and sat back on his heels. "Turn over, Tomi." One hand reached out to stroke down from one of Tom's buttocks over his hairless thigh.

Tom sighed through his nose, weirdly let down. Bill had been handling everything so deftly up until now, Tom suspected he'd begun to think no expenditure of effort was necessary on his part. A fair share of him was tempted to tell Bill to slip it back in and pound him until his knees turned into jelly. With an annoyed grunt at his own laziness, Tom shifted on the couch until he could flip over.

Above him, Bill's face burned, sweat-lined and beautiful. His lip drew between his teeth in that little bite that drove Tom crazy. His hand was between his thighs, working his cock and pointing it straight at Tom.

Tom groaned, the loudness catching him by surprise, as well as the swell of pure need that took him at the sight of Bill pulling on his cock and giving him that dark, heavy-lidded gaze. Tom positioned himself on his back and raised his legs in wordless offering.

The slight widening of Bill's eyes was the barest precursor to the warm weight over Tom's stomach, the attack of breathless parted lips and the rub of Bill's slicked cock over his hole. Their lips connected and fit together and Bill's tongue plied him with sweet teasing licks while his cock pressed in and parted Tom around him.

Changing the angle made the burn intensify, and the swell of Bill's not-inconsiderable cock seemed that much greater. Tom cried out into Bill's mouth as he was filled up again, as Bill pumped him full of his dick and stroked a hand up and down Tom's sweaty abs. Bill took hold of his cock, jacking him when Tom began to flag. Tom bit his lip and blew hard angry-sounding breaths through his nose, looking up into the eyes of his twin – more than that; his lover – as they were joined again and this time it was Bill doing him so well. There was nothing awry, nothing out of balance. A holdover part of Tom had been scared that this would set them hopelessly askew, because Bill had so much of him already. Instead, all it did was bring them...

"Closer," Tom breathed.

Bill nodded and surged over him, dragging his cock in and out of Tom as Tom did his best to tighten around it. Bill propped himself over Tom and thrust until their flesh slapped together, damp quick smacking noises joined by the lowness of Tom's moans.

"So good, Tomi," Bill managed, moving above him, his eyes bright.

"Make me come," Tom groaned, doing his best to lift his hips into Bill's steady rocking motions.

Bill shook his head, strands of his gelled hair escaping his pompadour and wisping over his forehead. "Wanna make it last," he panted, and rolled his hips in a series of slow-pumping, base to tip movements that made Tom cry out so loud there was an agitated bark halfway across the house.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last," Tom gasped out, warning. He moved and clamped down on Bill's dick and they both froze.

"Fuck," Bill gritted. "You're tight." His mouth dropped onto Tom's cheekbone, dwelling there a second before he nipped at Tom's jaw.

"What...ahh...did you expect?" Tom demanded. "You're the only one who's ever been in there."

Bill's eyes darkened and he hunched over Tom as though protective. "Only one who ever will," he stated, almost growling. He bent over Tom and gave it to him harder, making their bodies slap together until Tom's body began to ride over their overlapping shirts and his head crowded up against the couch arm, no place left to go. 

A tingling sensation spread up from Tom's toes and fingers and his mouth hung slack as Bill fucked him, the fullness of his cock giving Tom a weird sense of satisfaction. He wasn't used to it, exactly – it was stretching him open, it was almost too big to be anything more than painful – but the way it rubbed and thrust within him and even the friction his dick was getting from chafing Bill's belly was so, so good. Tom's body was a mass of pliantly ecstatic nerve endings, Occam's razor along the pleasure principle, and he was glad he was on his back now because he was sure his legs wouldn't hold up to the thrill of Bill deep-dicking him so good.

"Ahh," Tom expressed his enjoyment, reduced to incoherence again. If it got better than this with practice – and given Bill's loudly-celebrated orgasms, Tom was inclined to think it did – then Tom was considering a repeat engagement with Bill's prostate-seeking missile.

Bill gave a breathless laugh, hovering above him sweaty and glorious, and kissed Tom's chin. "Yes," he moaned, speeding up his thrusts. "Yes, nnngod Tomi, you're so good." He bit Tom's chin and brought their bodies together with a few more decisive hip-thrusts, quivering above him.

"Mm-hm," Tom responded mindlessly, and reached up to stroke Bill's sweaty face. Makeup was smudging in the corners of his eyes, streaking dark glitter over his flushed face.

Bill bit his lip again and looked delighted, then held himself against Tom and slowed. His thrusts came faster again, short but deep, most of the length of him staying inside.

Tom licked his own lips and tugged at Bill's nipple ring, looking down. He was surprised, but not really, to see come unraveling from the tip of his own dick, smearing between them with each revolution of Bill's hips as he rubbed their bodies together. He panted, released a sound that dismayingly resembled a sob, and clenched down on Bill.

"Oh, oh," Bill murmured, overcome. He kept moving atop Tom, pressing up and inside and Tom was still so turned on it hurt. Bill dropped onto his chest and began kissing him, all tongue and soft lazy nips of his teeth. "Oh, Tomi. That was..."

"You came, right?" Tom interrupted. "Because seriously, I don't think I can take anymore."

Bill widened his eyes at him and began to push himself up from Tom.

"Easy, take it easy!" Tom yelped.

"You suck at afterglow, Tom," Bill informed him. Despite the criticism he disengaged carefully and leaned back on his heels, prodding Tom's already-sore hole with a tender finger.

Tom laughed and held out an arm. "Come here," he told Bill, ignoring the examination of his tender bits. They let out identical happy sighs when Bill settled against him.

"Was it good?" Bill whispered, sounding insecure as he tangled his legs with Tom's, jostling their feet back and forth.

"Mmm," Tom mumbled, trying for casual. He had to think about it, take it all in. Maybe do it again to see for sure. It wouldn't do to give Bill the impression he was excited for it, though, because he was still damned sure he hadn't exhausted the charms that Bill's pretty little ass held for him.

"You liked it," Bill said smugly, reaching over to tweak Tom's closest nipple.

Tom hummed vague assent. "I like pretty much anything that involves coming that hard," he said nonchalantly.

"Wanna go back to your dick in my ass?" Bill offered, running his hand down Tom's stomach and stopping shy of touching lower, more sensitive things.

"Well," Tom began, and gave Bill a sly poke in the ribs. "You did great, but you might need practice."

Bill twitched, chuckled, and snuggled in closer beside him, settling against Tom like a second skin. "You know," he said, "when I asked you to help me with a workout regimen to get ready for the tour, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Tom reached over to mess with Bill's hair and kissed his cheek. "This counts, though; this totally counts," he said, nodding vigorously. "Go ahead and tell me you won't feel the burn tomorrow."

That surprised a helpless giggle out of Bill. "You really weren't joking when you said the only exercise you liked is fucking models," he dredged up one of Tom's older interview non-sequiturs. "And now I'm fucking Reebok's latest."

They were drifting toward an impromptu nap together with complete disregard for Tom's stringent rule regarding the post-coital cleanup of mutual emissions when Tom roused. He stroked at Bill's hair again. "Hey," he said softly, and smiled as he met Bill's sleepy blink. "Know the best part of NRJ's sudden decision to be total douchebags to us?"

"That it didn't work, because any publicity is good publicity for us?" Bill guessed.

Tom snickered. "That's good, too," he allowed. He stretched to kiss Bill's jaw, work the tip of his tongue down the side of it, and kissed his way into Bill's mouth with a brief swirl of tongue. "No, I was thinking...no cockblock of an after-party."

They shared a grin and another kiss.

"So, Tomi," Bill began, a crafty glint in his eye. "Next time we're up for an award..."

Tom groaned and crushed Bill against his side in a vain attempt to silence him as he contemplated the fact that, if there was any way to raise the stakes, Bill would manage it somehow. This time Tom wasn't saying yes to anything before he was safely past the afterglow.


End file.
